


dressed in all black, grim reaper

by callabang



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Dumb Hockey Boys, M/M, Philadelphia Flyers, Shopping Malls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-14 05:24:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20595428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callabang/pseuds/callabang
Summary: “You look like a total bitch,” Nolan says. A woman helping her tween son pick out a pair of Vans in the shoe section gives him a dirty look.“Thank you,” TK says.OR, TK works at Claire's. Nolan works at Hot Topic. Nolan definitely isn't pining.





	dressed in all black, grim reaper

**Author's Note:**

> I have three different TK/Nolan fics in the works, all of which I immediately put on the back burner when I saw this [this tweet](https://twitter.com/au_idea_bot/status/1171390127777574912) and had a [small meltdown](https://twitter.com/callabang_/status/1171397465435774977) about it.
> 
> TK's look in this fic is inspired by [this.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wLVMrpByb_Q)
> 
> Title is from [Tia Tamera](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C_yI2959DYU), which slaps.
> 
> REALLY cannot emphasize enough: this is incredibly stupid and incredibly unbeta'd. I wrote it in three hours and slapped it on the internet. Comments make my day :)

Nolan doesn’t sit up straight when TK comes into Hot Topic, because that would imply that, at the very least, he’s paying attention to who comes in to Hot Topic, and even more embarrassingly, that he’s _ waiting _for TK to come into Hot Topic. Instead, he stays hunched over by the register, scrolling through twitter on his phone and pretending he’s not watching TK approach out of the corner of his eye.

“Whaddaya think?” TK asks when he gets to the counter. Nolan sighs laboriously and looks up, only to be met with—

“_What _ are you wearing?” Nolan asks. Normally he strives for a complete monotone, but given the circumstances he thinks he can be excused for the way his voice cracks a little on the _ what. _

TK strikes a pose. 

His hair, which is currently about three months past due for a haircut and scruffy as hell, is pulled back from his face with some kind of tiny, glittery clips. He’s wearing a pastel rainbow sweatshirt, which is at least is a nice replacement from his shitty yellow one. There is a fuzzy bracelet in light orange leopard print; there is a choker; there are pompoms in the mix. And, most importantly, there are the glasses.

They’re white cat-eye sunglasses, a little too small for TK _(probably because they’re made for a child _, Nolan’s brain supplies helpfully) and, without putting too fine a point on it, they make him look like a total bitch.

“You look like a total bitch,” Nolan says. A woman helping her tween son pick out a pair of Vans in the shoe section gives him a dirty look.

“Thank you,” TK says. “Claire’s just got some new merchandise.” He does a little spin, presumably to show off said merchandise. Nolan can see the lines of his chest through the sweatshirt. “Pretty sick, huh?”

Nolan rolls his eyes. “You look like a marshmallow Peep,” he says, which is honestly kind of true. A mean marshmallow Peep, with impractical sunglasses.

“Thank you,” TK says again, pushing the sunglasses up to the top of his head. “Let me know if you want me to put something on reserve for you.” Then he winks, an overly-deliberate motion that scrunches up the whole right side of face and is also stupidly, infuriatingly cute.

Nolan does his best to project disdain, looking pointedly at his own outfit — black jeans, black band t-shirt, snapback — and then back up at TK. 

TK shrugs. “I don’t know, dude, maybe you’re looking to expand your horizons.”

“Hm,” Nolan says, “I’m not.” 

The woman with the tween son clears her throat. She’s maybe been standing at the register for a long time, Nolan is just now realizing.

“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am!” TK says, because even though he’s a total shithead he’s also a kiss-ass and model employee, “I didn’t mean to hold you up.”

The woman looks taken aback at being addressed by a person wearing what TK is wearing. “Oh, well, that’s alright—”

“Great!” TK says brightly. “I have to be getting back to work, anyway. Have a nice day!” And then, without waiting for a response, he turns on his heel and trots out the door.

Nolan looks after him for a long moment. So does the woman. Her tween son is examining the shitty headphones they sell by the register. 

“That will be $68.89,” Nolan says. The woman gets out her wallet.

…

Later, when Hot Topic is empty except for a pair of high school girls debating the merits of black versus purple fishnets, Nolan allows himself a casual glance over to the Claire’s. The nice thing about the glass storefronts of the mall is that he can see TK, still largely in full regalia but no longer wearing the sunglasses. He’s crouched beside a small girl, maybe seven or eight, who seems to be laboriously selecting a tiara from a rotating display of approximately sixty different tiaras. She picks one up delicately and puts it on; then she turns to TK.

From over here, Nolan can’t hear what TK is saying, but, he can see the way TK’s smiling and gesturing wildly, and the way the little girl preens. Carefully, TK reaches up to adjust the tiara slightly, then holds out his hand for a high-five. The little girl gives him five, giggling madly, and then skips over to her dad to show off. 

It’s honestly gross how good TK is with kids. He’s always getting down on their level and talking to them about what accessories they want and complimenting their choice of stick-on earrings or plastic headbands. Nolan would know; he’s watched it happen often enough. 

He wonders what it would be like to be that genuinely enthusiastic all the time. Exhausting, probably. TK probably even likes working at a shitty mall Claire’s. 

Nolan is only working at a shitty mall Hot Topic so he can save up to get his next tattoo. He’s thinking cherubs.

“Excuse me?” It’s one of the fishnet girls. “Do you have these, but, like, fingerless gloves?”

“Other side of the rack,” he answers, jerking a thumb without looking away from Claire’s.

“Oh...kay. Thanks?” the girls says, and wanders back to her friend.

Across the hallway, TK looks up from ringing up the tiara and meets Nolan’s eyes, flashing him a grin. Nolan flushes and snatches his head down, cheeks rosy. Cover fucking blown.

He doesn’t look over to TK for the rest of his time at the register, and then the end of his shift is in the back room so he doesn’t have to worry about keeping his cool. When he finally clocks out, all he can think about is getting a soft pretzel from the food court and going the fuck home. He gets derailed a little, though, because as he heads out, bag slung over his shoulder, TK is waiting for him in between the Hot Topic and the Claire’s. He’s just finished work as well.

“Can I help you?” he says, just to be obnoxious. TK grins at him, as always.

“First step in expanding your horizons,” he says, and holds out a pair of sunglasses. They’re the same cat-eye shape as TK’s, but instead of white, they’re a matte black. Nolan reaches out, absolutely ignoring the stupid swooping thing his stomach is doing, and puts on the glasses.

“How do I look?” Nolan asks.

“Like a total bitch,” TK says. 

Nolan can feel himself smile, despite all his efforts to the contrary. Maybe, he thinks to himself, it’s not such a big deal to drop the whole cool-and-aloof thing. Like, just this once.

“Do you, uh,” he starts. There’s definitely some mumble in there. “Do you wanna get a soft pretzel?” 

Improbably, TK’s grin gets even wider. “You know it, dude,” he says. Not bad, all things considered.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/callabang_), where I have breakdowns about Travis Konecny on the reg.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] dressed in all black, grim reaper](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20956952) by [growlery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery)


End file.
